


Heartache

by Amikotsu



Series: writing prompts [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cancer, Character Death, Depression, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, One Night Stands, Prompt Fic, Therapy, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amikotsu/pseuds/Amikotsu
Summary: Obito's wife passed away six months ago and he's still not handling it well. He ends up at a bar in the middle of the afternoon, with a man he just met, and suddenly it's a good idea to go home with a stranger.





	Heartache

Rin had loved sunrises. She'd loved to watch the sun peek over the horizon. Together, they'd watched hundreds of sunrises, each one a little different than the last. Obito still remembered the last sunrise they'd seen. The sky had been dyed pink and purple, with the clouds looking more like cotton candy. She'd said it was the best she'd ever seen, then they'd kissed, and he'd held her close. They hadn't had much time, after that. Hours later, she'd passed away. She'd died in his arms, both of them likely thinking of the colorful sky and those cotton-candy clouds. He'd loved her, but love hadn't been enough to save her. The treatment hadn't worked. Though he knew they counted their time together in minutes, hours, days, her death had still come as a shock. One minute she'd been breathing, and then the heart monitor had gone crazy. He still remembered the loud sound the machine made, how it had sent chills down his spine. He remembered bargaining for her life, panicked prayers tumbling from his lips. He'd wanted God to take him, to leave her; he'd begged for more time, just a little more time. God wasn't listening. On the twenty-third of June, she'd died. And he was alone again.

He visited her grave too much. During the first month, he'd visited multiple times a day. He couldn't process that she'd passed away, that she'd done what she always promised she wouldn't, that she'd left him. As the days passed, as weeks accumulated, Obito limited his visits to once a day, and then to four times a week. His friends had started visiting more, so he didn't have time to continue his first routine. They were worried about him, and he really couldn't blame them. He was worried. He was worried that he'd never have the strength to carry on with his life. He went days without showering, until Genma eventually dragged him off the couch and threw him in the shower. After that, he put more effort into himself. He ate the food Kurenai made for him. He sorted through the mail that Asuma left on the kitchen counter. He had little victories. Then he stumbled, and he fell right back into the chasm. He couldn't pretend that everything was fine when he'd buried a large piece of his heart. He didn't know how to function without Rin.

"You look like shit."

"It's early, Genma. What do you want?"

"It's two in the afternoon. Are you just getting up?"

Obito leaned against the front door, blocking Genma's view of the inside of the home. He hadn't cleaned in a while. He wasn't proud of the filthy home, and he didn't need his best friend seeing the mess and judging him again. But Genma knew, somehow he always knew. Genma placed a hand flat against the door and shoved it open, sending Obito stumbling backwards. Without Asuma bringing the mail in, the envelopes had piled up. The door pushed against the mail, scattering envelopes across the floor. Genma stepped around Obito and walked further into the apartment. A few sheets were balled up on the living room couch, and the coffee table was covered in old takeout containers, plates, bowls, and cups. Without Kurenai sending him food, he'd resorted to ordering in, and he hadn't bothered cleaning up the dishes or containers. Genma frowned, then he walked towards the kitchen. Obito cut him off before he could get through the doorway, but Genma easily looked around Obito. The sink and countertops were covered in the dirty dishes Obito had managed to carry to the kitchen. Some of the plates were disgusting, with moldy, half-eaten food. Obito closed his eyes and sighed.

"You said you were doing better, Obito. This isn't better," Genma frowned, heading toward the dining room. He took a seat at the low table and shoved some of the old newspapers aside. Obito had cancelled the paper over ten days ago, but it was still delivered daily. Obito wondered if they'd continued charging him. He realized he didn't really care. Soon enough, he wouldn't have any money for them to take. "I'm taking you downtown. I'm tired of this. This isn't you, man."

"Downtown? I'm fine. I just need more time," Obito said, covering his face with his hands. He'd had six months to try and make something of his loneliness and he'd achieved nothing. He had ten more days left on his work leave, and he'd exhausted his savings. He'd pulled from his retirement account to pay for the treatments and the funeral. He had next to nothing left. Genma knew that. Genma had offered to lend him money. 

"It's been six months. Aren't those the same pajamas you had on when I visited four days ago?" Genma wrinkled his nose and Obito sighed again. He needed the release. He hadn't showered or changed, but he hadn't gone anywhere to need to do those things. "Just give this a chance. If it doesn't work out, you can go back to whatever this is," Genma said, waving a hand at Obito's collection of old newspapers. "Do it for me, alright? Remember when we liked the same girl in high school and I bowed out and let you take her to prom? I'm calling on that right now. You owe me."

"We're thirty-one years old. That's expired."

"The bachelor party, where you made out with the male stripper. I'm calling on that."

"You weren't supposed to talk about it ever again!" Obito scowled at Genma, but he didn't argue about owing Genma. The bachelor party had gotten out of hand. The male stripper was a gag thing, a joke, while the female stripper, the real gift, hopped out of the cake. Obito had too much alcohol and one thing had led to another -- he owed Genma. "When is this stupid meeting?"

"Ten minutes. Take a shower. Find some clean clothes. And wash your hair," Genma called out, words carried along by the acoustics in the hallway. Obito went upstairs and he heard Genma cursing and rooting around in the piles of old newspapers, likely trying to organize them. There was no hope. 

Obito didn't like going into the bedroom he'd shared with Rin, so he didn't. Genma forced him to go into the room. Every change of clothes required entry into the room. The place was just the same as he remembered it. Her side of the bed wasn't made, hadn't been made in over nine months. The hospital had been their temporary home, and then hospice. Obito stood in the doorway, took a deep breath, and avoided looking at that side of the room. He didn't want to see the empty water glass, the last book she'd read, the way the sheets had been tossed aside the last time she'd fled from the bed into the bathroom. They should have seen the signs, but they'd been naive. 

Obito only had a slightly wrinkled v-neck t-shirt and his last pair of jeans, so he took both, then he rooted around for a clean pair of boxers, which he found at the bottom of a basket of clean clothes; the boxers were wrinkled too, since he hadn't folded the clothes. The bathroom had none of Rin's things covering the counter space, nothing of hers in the medicine cabinet above the sink. He'd taken most of her things out. Everything else he'd thrown away. He'd been upset and he'd swept everything onto the floor. The mirror on the medicine cabinet had two long cracks in it from where he'd punched it. He hated the bathroom too. Obito turned away from the sink and started the shower, then he waited for the water to heat up.

As he showered, he closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the hot water against his skin and the smell of sandalwood. He remembered the way Rin would slip in behind him and massage his back, easing the tension from his muscles. Obito drowned out the memories by washing his hair. He didn't have time to dwell; he told himself he wouldn't dwell on such things. But was it his fault if everything reminded him of Rin? 

"We're going to be late. Come on," Genma said, knocking twice on the closed bathroom door. Obito sighed, then he washed the soap from his hair and turned the shower off. Obito was late to almost everything, so it only made sense for him to be late to a group meeting. He wondered if his tardiness would prevent him from entering and taking part in the meeting. He hoped so. Genma knocked again and Obito sighed. "I know you're dragging your feet on purpose. I'm not above breaking this door down."

"Yeah, yeah. Hang on," Obito spoke, already drying off. He spent more time drying his hair, then he got his clothes on. He tried smoothing out the wrinkles. Though some of the wrinkles smoothed out, the majority remained. He didn't even care anymore. Just as Genma decided to knock again, Obito opened the bathroom door.

"Wrinkles," Genma greeted him, smirking. Obito shoved Genma's right shoulder, then he slid past the man. "Come on. I'll drop you off."

Genma steered Obito toward the stairs, then the two left. Obito had his wallet, his keys, and his phone, which barely had any life left to it. He sat in the passenger seat of Genma's new car. He hated the jazz station Genma had playing, but he didn't want to mess with the radio. Genma didn't like anyone touching the radio. Throughout the ride, Genma talked about work. Apparently, he'd gotten a promotion and he was the head of his department at the call center. He'd started out as a part-time employee, so Obito knew he'd worked hard to get the position. Obito was a math teacher, but he'd taken his accumulated days off and a medical leave, so he had no idea if he'd still have his position or not. It was summer, so he'd only missed a few months of the school year. The view suddenly seemed more interesting. He didn't want to think about work.

"This is it," Genma eventually spoke. The car came to a stop outside of a small office building. Almost all of the blinds were closed. A single glass door separated the interior of the building from the rest of the world. Obito felt sick to his stomach. "Do you want me to come in with you?" Behind them, someone honked the horn. Genma could have easily taken a left turn and pulled into the parking lot, but Obito shook his head. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. "I'll be back in an hour. Just give this a chance, alright?"

"Yeah," Obito mumbled. He closed the car door, then he walked around the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. Genma waved, but Obito stood there and watched his friend drive away. He turned toward the four-story building, then he slowly approached the front door. Just as he grabbed the handle, the door swung open and almost hit him in the face.

"Did I hit you?"

"No. I'm fine."

The man had silver hair. Or was it more white? Grey? Obito couldn't decide. He didn't want to lean in to get a closer look, just because he knew it would bother him if someone did that to him. The two stood there for too long, the man attempting to exit and Obito attempting to enter. Finally, the man stepped out and held the door for Obito. Obito mumbled his thanks and the man smiled. When he smiled, his eyes closed. Something in Obito ached; he'd longed for that kind of smile, to see something so genuine, so inviting. Even though the man was so different from Rin, Obito saw that same kindness in the smile. As the door began to close, Obito stuck his foot out and stopped it. The stranger blinked at him once, then twice. 

"Are you here for the group?" 

Obito knew it was a stupid question, wasted words between the two of them. The man had been leaving. He should have been arriving. Obito outed himself as just another broken man, someone so incapable of rebuilding his life that he needed to whine about it to complete strangers, other people just like himself. He had the sudden urge to walk away, even though Genma had gone through the trouble of finding a support group and driving him to the meeting. He wasn't ready, and maybe he'd never be ready. He felt like a foreigner, a stranger, a fraud. He didn't even recognize himself anymore. He knew he needed help; he needed to feel not so alone anymore. He was surrounded by friends and family, but he'd isolated himself. 

"I was. Is that why you're here? You're running late."

"I ran across a black cat and had to take the long way."

"Is that so?" The man chuckled. Obito didn't even know why he'd lied. He used to make the same funny excuses with Rin. He suffered from chronic tardiness, something incurable, something that stemmed from his people-pleasing childhood. Someone found him funny again. Obito felt his lips twitch for a smile, and he gave in. "You should get inside. The meeting started ten minutes ago."

"Aren't you coming?" Obito still stood in the doorway, the cool air from inside mixing with the hot, humid air outside. The man hummed, as if in thought, then he shook his head. "Is it that bad?"

"My friend runs the group. He's great at what he does, but it's not for me," the man spoke, glancing up at the face of the building. 

Obito wondered if the whole group was a waste of time. Genma thought the group would help Obito; Genma had always looked out for Obito. The truth was that Obito needed someone looking out for him. He was known for being reckless and self-destructive, for being hot-tempered. Rin had looked out for him, had been looking out for him since they were kids. She'd been his light. She stood by him for years. Without her, he found himself flailing, drowning. Obito stepped outside and let the door close. He wasn't ready. He needed more time, more days, weeks, and months. 

"I'm going for a drink. Do you want to join me?"

"It's two in the afternoon."

"Is that a no?"

Obito didn't respond fast enough, so the man turned and started walking away. He had moments to flash through scenarios, each one ending in his murder. Everything told him not to wander off with a stranger, but he found himself taking steps, steps that quickly carried him to the man's side. Apparently, they were going to drink. Obito hadn't had alcohol in a while. He hadn't wanted to waste the money. Alcohol wasn't cheap. Rin hadn't liked him drinking. He was a happy drunk and he bared his soul to anyone willing to give him the time of day. He wondered if alcoholism would dull the ache; he wondered if sacrificing his liver would somehow fix him.

The bar was a block away, and the entire trip was bathed in a comfortable silence. The man had shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walked along at an easy pace. He slouched, as if gravity itself waged a war with him. His clothes weren't wrinkled; his hair wasn't damp from a hurried shower. When they reached the bar, the man held the door open for Obito, then he followed Obito inside. Obito looked around the dimly lit interior. One person sat at the bar, and two people sat at a table. Two other tables were empty, the booths along the left wall were empty, and three stools were empty. Obito looked back at the man, an unspoken question passing between them. The man placed a hand on Obito's left shoulder, then he led them toward the bar. They sat at the end, away from the other patrons. 

"What do you want to drink?" Obito didn't know what he wanted. He considered taking the special, maybe a bestseller. When the bartender arrived, Obito still hadn't decided. "Tequila. Keep them coming," the man ordered, taking the pressure off of Obito. The woman left to fill some shot glasses, so he rested his forearms atop the bar and watched the small television in the corner. 

"Tequila?"

"Did you want something else?"

"I thought you would order beers," Obito spoke, eyeing the man. They were going to end up getting wasted, but maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Obito felt bad for skipping the group meeting. He'd let Genma down. Maybe he'd let himself down. "I haven't had tequila since college."

"Maybe that's problem." Obito stared at the man, then he found himself smiling. College had been fun. He'd studied hard; he'd partied hard. He knew how to hold his alcohol. Well, he'd known how to in college.

"I'm Obito."

"Kakashi."

The shots arrived, along with the lime wedges and salt. Sighing, Obito prepared himself for his first shot. He licked, salted, drank, and bit into the lime. It wasn't top shelf tequila, so it was perfect for shots. The flavor of the drink and the lime was nice, but it almost choked him. He took a deep breath afterwards, then he watched Kakashi knock back a shot. Obito would have preferred scotch, but the drinks were free and he'd already taken the dive. He took another shot, and then he was more involved in drinking than conversing. He lost count of the shots, but he eventually nudged Kakashi's side with his elbow. He wondered how long they'd been sitting there, but he couldn't find a clock. The bar was its own little world, where time had stopped. Obito slumped on the stool and let out a long sigh. 

"I should have gone to group," Obito said, words surprisingly clear. Beside Obito, Kakashi took another shot and chased it with lime. "Why isn't it for you? Is it too sad? Do the people sound as pathetic as I think they'd sound?"

"They aren't pathetic. They're trying to rebuild their lives. It is sad, but life is full of sadness. It's loss. It's not supposed to feel good."

"You don't want to rebuild your life?"

"You don't want to rebuild _your_ life?"

Obito didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't ready, but he considered the possibility that he just didn't want to move on. Did he want to build a new life without Rin? Obito stared down into his shot glass. Kakashi drank his shot, so Obito did the same. The sour lime had him licking his lips. He liked limes. He liked the bite. Obito expected more shots, but the bartender cut them off. Kakashi ordered ice water, so they had something else to drink, but Obito still tasted the tequila on his tongue. Maybe he wanted to sit there and wallow in self-pity, just as he had wallowed in it at home. Obito closed his hand around his glass, though he didn’t lift it to his lips. Kakashi hadn’t touched the water either. They both wanted more tequila. The shots made Obito feel like he was celebrating something, something that deserved a celebration. Leaving the house. Meeting someone new. Ordering a different drink. Taking risks. He only needed to pick a reason. Obito finally took a drink, but the cold water was nothing compared to the burn of the tequila. 

“I lost my wife six months ago.” Obito didn’t know why he said anything. Kakashi got to his feet and motioned Obito toward the row of booths along the wall. Confused, Obito slid off the stool, grabbed his drink, and followed. More people had entered into the bar and baseball was on the television. The announcers were giving highlights of yesterday’s game. Obito had never cared for baseball. He preferred hockey or basketball. When they reached a booth, one nestled into the corner, Kakashi sat on one side, and Obito sat on the other. “Why were you going to the meeting?”

“I lost my dad on this day. My friend, Gai, drags me to one of his meetings every anniversary,” Kakashi answered, drowning out the rest of his words with a drink of water. They were still riding the tequila high. Obito didn’t know why they wanted to talk about death, then he remembered that he’d been the one to blurt out personal information. Kakashi stared at the second television mounted on the wall behind Obito. It was easier for them both if they didn’t have to make eye contact. “Why did you decide to come with me today?”

“I’ve lived a full life, so if you turned out to be a murderer, I made peace with it,” Obito said, shrugging a shoulder. Kakashi’s eyes drifted from the television to Obito’s face, then he laughed. Slightly embarrassed, Obito joined in on the laughter. Someone fed the old jukebox a quarter, and a country song filled the bar. Obito hated country music, so he made a face, which only made Kakashi laugh again. “Do you like this song?”

“Hm? No. I like,” Kakashi began, cut off by Obito’s snort.

“Nirvana, right? You look like one of those people.”

“‘One of those people’? I don’t mind Nirvana, but I’m a Beatles fan.”

“_Really_? Alright. I like Queen.” Kakashi frowned in thought, then he nodded, clearly agreeing with Obito’s selection. Obito liked a wide variety of music, but he stood by Queen. The Beatles were inspirational, really a shining star in the music industry, but Obito liked Freddie Mercury. He had a soft spot for Beach Boys music too. And nothing really spoke to him more than “Renegade” by Styx. Kakashi smiled at him, as if reading his thoughts, so Obito averted his eyes. “What’s your favorite Beatles song? If you say ‘Hey Jude,’ then we’re done here.”

“So judgmental, Obito,” Kakashi sighed, shaking his head. For a moment, Obito really thought he’d insulted Kakashi. Obito took a drink of water and sucked in an ice cube, which he swished in his mouth a few times. As he bit down on the ice, Kakashi arched a brow at him. “I would have to say ‘Helter Skelter.’ What’s your favorite Queen song? ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?” Obito scowled at Kakashi, his cheeks coloring to reveal his own embarrassment. Kakashi was wrong, of course. Bohemian Rhapsody was a masterpiece, in Obito’s opinion, but it wasn’t his favorite song. Kakashi chuckled, then it was his turn to take a drink of water. 

“No. It’s not. I like ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ or ‘Bicycle Race.’ One is a power song, and the other is pretty fun,” Obito said, already defending himself. Kakashi smiled again, eyes closing briefly, and Obito grabbed a sugar packet from the table and threw it at Kakashi. The packet hit Kakashi’s chest and fell down into the man’s lap. Kakashi grabbed the packet and threw it at Obito, hitting him right in the forehead. Obito blinked a few times, then he reached up to touch his forehead. Kakashi smiled again at the expression on Obito’s face, then he collected the sugar packet and put it back in the container. “Do you always run away from your problems?”

“Most of the time. Do you always run away from _your_ problems?”

“Everyday. If it weren’t for my best friend, I’d probably still be at home watching an afternoon talk show.”

“It’s a little late for talk shows. It would be the five o’clock news, by now.”

“Five? Shit! Genma was supposed to pick me up at three!” Obito didn’t know what to do. Genma was long gone and he had no way of getting home. He covered his face with his hands and groaned. He and Kakashi had been drinking and talking for three hours. Obito sighed, then he let his hands drop. He knew he could walk home, maybe even call a cab. “He’s going to be pissed. Isn’t your friend going to be worried about you?”

“Maa, he knows me. I always skip the meeting. If you need a ride home, I can give you a ride home, Obito,” Kakashi offered, reeling Obito back in. Obito didn’t want Kakashi going out of his way, and Obito didn’t want him seeing the inside of the house. It was a mess. Obito pursed his lips, then he nodded, a slow motion to avoid using words. In the end, they would decide whether Kakashi was sober enough to drive home. A cab wasn’t out of the question. “Do you want to leave now?”

“My house is a mess,” Obito blurted out, the words seeming to burst forth from the depths of his gut. Kakashi blinked, then he laughed. He seemed to laugh a lot, and Obito liked that about him. Obito’s friends tiptoed around, not wanting to appear too happy, not wanting to appear too sad. They censored themselves around him. Maybe he didn’t need that anymore. He wanted someone to be open and honest with him, even if it hurt.

“No one expects your house to be spotless. If you don’t want me to go inside, then I don’t have to go inside. I can drop you off, moron.”

“I’m not a moron!”

“Oh?”

“Ugh, you’re really a bastard. I knew it was too good to be true.” 

They stared at one another for a moment, then they both chuckled. Obito finished his glass of water, then he moved the glass toward the end of the table. The light-hearted mood seemed to evaporate, replaced by something Obito couldn’t quite describe. Kakashi stared down at the table, so Obito looked over Kakashi’s face. The man had a vertical scar over his left eye -- he was lucky to still have the eye, clearly. Obito suddenly longed for more tequila. He considered bargaining with the bartender for more. They hadn’t fallen while they were navigating through the sea of tables to their booth. They were fine. That was the problem. Obito came to his senses and realized that Kakashi was studying him. He hated the fact that his shirt was wrinkled. He should have tried to look presentable, but he hadn’t summoned the energy needed to look presentable. He was exhausted, and he’d barely put forth any effort at all. Obito slowly extended his arm, stretching it across the table so his fingertips could brush against the back of Kakashi’s hand. They both looked down at their hands, both of them likely thinking different things. Obito didn’t know what he was doing, or maybe he did, maybe he wanted to be self-destructive, maybe he wanted to throw caution to the wind and reclaim the reins on his life. They’d had a lot of tequila, but Obito swore he was in control of himself. He swore he could make wise decisions. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yeah.”

Obito didn’t know if they had some spark, some connection, or if he were simply desperate and lonely. Kakashi offered him an out and he took it. Yes, he wanted to go; yes, he wanted to leave. Kakashi took his hand and helped him out of the booth, then they started their walk back to the building where they’d met. Obito thought Genma might be there, car parked in the parking lot, just waiting to ambush Obito, but Genma wasn’t there. At the building, Kakashi bypassed the parking lot. Confused, Obito hurried to catch up to him, to walk beside him. They traveled to an apartment building three doors down. Kakashi lived nearby. Kakashi opened the door for Obito, then they entered into the lobby. There was a collection of mailboxes to the right; directly ahead was a single elevator. An old man was standing in front of the elevator, so Kakashi and Obito stood behind the man, waiting for the elevator to open. The ride to the third floor was quiet. When Kakashi and Obito left the elevator, the old man continued up, the white number five lit on the panel. Kakashi lived at the end of the hallway. There were two other apartments on the floor, one directly across from the elevator and one at the opposite end of the hallway. 

“I don’t normally do this,” Obito mumbled, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He felt out of place. Kakashi nudged open the door, then he took Obito’s other hand and led him into the apartment. A dog greeted them at the door, the small pug staring up at both of them with bright eyes and a wagging tail. Kakashi bent down to pet the dog, then he went further into the apartment. With no other choice, Obito followed him. In the kitchen, Kakashi disappeared into a pantry and came back with a cup of dog food. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Pakkun.” 

At the mention of his name, the dog barked, as if to agree. Obito found himself smiling. He wondered if he should get a dog, maybe a cat, just so that he wasn’t so alone. Obito stood there and watched Kakashi give the dog fresh water, then he wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room. The apartment was one big open space with one hallway to the right. It was a nice apartment, but Obito preferred living in a house. He and Rin had started out in an apartment and they’d worked themselves to death to afford the down payment for a house. He didn’t think he could ever part with the home, but the bills would be due and he had no money to offer the collectors. He knew he might end up losing the house; he might end up back in a small apartment, dreaming about the house he once owned.

“Are you alright? You’re staring at a lamp,” Kakashi said, interrupting Obito’s thoughts. True enough, Obito had zoned out while staring at one of Kakashi’s lamps. Embarrassed, Obito laughed and tried to brush off his sad thoughts in favor of focusing on the man beside him. “We don’t have to do anything. We could talk.”

“I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Here.” 

Kakashi placed his hands on Obito’s shoulders and turned Obito to face him. Kakashi’s hands slid down Obito’s arms, then Obito felt one trail up the outside of his left thigh and dip beneath his shirt. One hand stayed at his left hip, while the other cupped his cheek. Obito hadn’t kissed someone else in years -- it had always been Rin. For a moment, he worried that he’d forgotten how to kiss someone. He felt out of his element, out of touch with what they were trying to do. Kakashi leaned in and pressed his lips to Obito’s. As if on cue, Obito’s heart skipped a beat. He panicked. He short-circuited. And then he returned the kiss. Obito had imagined a few scenarios, each one ending in messy kisses, rough fondling, and scattered clothing. He was wrong, of course. When the kiss ended, Obito found himself searching for answers in Kakashi’s eyes. He expected Kakashi to know what to do, because he had no idea what to do. It had been months since someone had touched him, and he felt starved for affection. He knew then that he wanted love, but he had to settle for something less. There was no way Kakashi could be in love with him, not after spending a few hours together in a dark bar, but he could pretend. They could pretend. 

Their second kiss was rough. While Kakashi’s hands gripped Obito’s hips, fingers digging in, Obito’s hands went for the button and zipper on Kakashi’s pants. When they parted, Kakashi stopped Obito’s fumbling hands and tugged Obito’s shirt up and off. Obito wanted messy kisses, rough fondling, and scattered clothing, but Kakashi gave him slow, torturous kisses and caresses. They didn’t make it to the bedroom. That would have required too much, so they settled for the couch. Obito shoved Kakashi down onto the center cushion of couch, then straddled him. Obito kissed Kakashi’s lips, his jaw, his neck. Obito was a teenager all over again, clumsy and horny, trying to discover what worked and didn’t work, and Kakashi was patient with him and let him explore. 

“I want your pants off,” Obito said, words buried against the side of Kakashi’s neck. 

Obito let his left hand trail down Kakashi’s bare chest to the top of the man’s jeans. That time, Obito unbuttoned the jeans, and slowly pulled the zipper down. He rubbed a hand over the exposed boxer briefs. Obito had never been one for what he considered heavy petting. He always felt rushed for release, going from one act to the next without so much as a pause; Rin used to guide him, to slow him down, to ground him. Kakashi ran a hand through Obito’s hair, then he tugged on it, forcing Obito’s head back, exposing Obito’s neck. The pants were forgotten in favor of kissing. Were they supposed to put such emphasis on the build up? Every touch made Obito realize that he was with a stranger, someone who didn’t know him, someone who didn’t care about him, someone who wasn’t Rin. Yet wasn’t that the appeal? Obito could be anyone he wanted to be, and maybe he didn’t want to be Obito anymore.

Kakashi moved on the couch, turning to thrust Obito onto the couch cushions. He lifted his lower half off the couch to get rid of his pants. The jeans hit the ground, but Obito was more focused on Kakashi’s upper half. Kakashi had defined muscles, so Obito felt a little insecure about his own appearance. He understood how people could feel so small when they couldn’t hide behind layers of clothing, when there was almost nothing between them and the rest of the world. Kakashi unbuttoned and unzipped Obito’s jeans, then he slowly tugged them down, exposing more of Obito. Obito lay back on the couch and Kakashi moved to kiss him again. Obito had never considered kissing as a show of dominance, but he wondered then if they really were just trying to establish something.

“You’re nervous,” Kakashi noted, after they’d parted. 

Kakashi sat up, revealing his amused expression, the subtle upward curve of his lips. Obito wanted to declare that he wasn’t nervous, that he was impatient, and there was a difference, but that would have been lying. He didn’t want to lie. Obito expected Kakashi to ask him if he wanted to stop; he waited for the inevitable, the moment of pity, but it never came. Kakashi placed both hands on Obito’s hips, then he slid fingers under the waist of Obito’s boxers. Obito was rushing again, rushing himself, but maybe he needed to force himself along. Maybe he needed Kakashi. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly too dry. He didn’t want to tell Kakashi to stop, even though every part of him screamed that he needed more time, that he just needed a little more time. Kakashi studied his face, and he wondered if Kakashi saw straight through him. They were both hard, and yet they were at a standstill. The whole thing felt wrong. Obito felt the familiar burn in his eyes, the promise of tears, so he averted his eyes. It wasn’t Kakashi. Obito had found the look of lust again -- he felt wanted again -- yet it still felt wrong. 

“Hey,” Kakashi spoke, hands moving from Obito’s boxers to touch Obito’s cheeks, to turn Obito’s head. They made eye contact again and Obito took a shaky breath. He was upset, frustrated, and sad, embarrassed and wrapped in a desire he didn’t know he could fulfill. “I already told you we don’t have to do anything.”

“This is probably the worst one-night stand you’ve ever had.”

“Actually, it’s not. You didn’t throw up all over my floor and expect to keep going.”

“That really happened?”

“Yeah. I spent my night cleaning up vomit,” Kakashi said, chuckling. Obito sat up on the couch and moved closer to Kakashi. They both sat there, Obito staring down at his lap and Kakashi leaning into the back of the couch. Obito fought the tears away, pushing them down, down, down, until only the ache in his chest remained. He’d ruined a perfectly good night. He didn’t know why he thought a one-night stand would solve his problems. He’d picked a good guy, a real gentleman, and he’d made the situation awkward and uncomfortable. “Why did you want to leave with me?”

“You made me feel better,” Obito answered, looking over at Kakashi. Kakashi nodded, silently encouraging him to continue speaking. Obito chewed on his lower lip, eyes squinted in thought. When he spoke again, he punctuated the beginning of his words with a small sigh. “It was nice. I thought we could have a good time together. I think you’re hot. You’re a good guy. You get it. Grief, I guess. You looked at me and saw something worth pursuing, when I’m sure there isn’t much to me anymore.”

“I think you’re funny. You handle your tequila well,” Kakashi began, clearly answering Obito’s unspoken question. Why _did_ Kakashi want to leave with Obito? Obito nodded then; it was his turn to encourage Kakashi, to listen and understand. “You’re cute. You’re a good guy too, Obito. Grief is complicated. I might look like I have everything under control, but there’s a reason why my friend tries to get me to go to those group meetings.”

“I’m glad we stopped. I probably would have cried during sex, which would have been even more embarrassing,” Obito admitted, after a beat of silence. Kakashi looked over at him and started to laugh, so Obito joined in. It felt good to laugh, to laugh in the face of pain. “Do you want me to take care of that?” Obito motioned to Kakashi’s obvious hard on, so Kakashi stroked himself through his boxer briefs. 

“Are you going to cry?”

“You’re such a bastard.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Obito swatted Kakashi’s shoulder, then he swung his legs off the couch and got down onto his knees on the floor. Obito tugged Kakashi’s boxer briefs down over the man’s thighs, pulling them down until they met the floor. Kakashi wasn’t like Obito; Kakashi wasn’t nervous at all. Obito wondered what it felt like to be that confident, as confident as he’d been six months ago. He’d been a whole person then, not the shadow of a man he currently was, the remains of his former self. His sole mission was to make Kakashi feel good, to earn the heavy breathing and breathy moans. He wanted to hear Kakashi moan his name. And Kakashi did reward him. It was a mixture of heavy breathing and whispered words, all commands to go faster, to go slower, to take more of Kakashi in. When Kakashi came, his eyes closed and he tightened the grip on Obito’s hair. When Kakashi released the grip, Obito pulled back and took a seat on the floor. He licked his lips, the taste of cum lingering on his tongue. He didn’t feel dirty. He didn’t feel guilty. He sat there and took in Kakashi’s relaxed form, focusing on the way Kakashi breathed. In. Out. Repeat. Obito waited for Kakashi to gather himself, to say something to Obito; instead, Kakashi patted the cushion to his left. Obito forced himself from the floor and went to claim the seat next to Kakashi. Before Obito settled on the couch, Kakashi leaned in and captured his lips. And they were kissing all over again. They kissed until they were breathless. 

Sometime later, they gathered their clothing from the floor and dressed themselves. Obito finally thought to check his phone. He’d accidentally left it on silent, so he’d missed the thirty-four calls from Genma. He had voicemails he should have listened to, but he put the phone away. He didn’t want the lecture, and the battery was on eight percent. He was surprised the thing still worked, honestly. Obito looked over to find Kakashi staring at him. 

“Do you need to go?” 

“Is this the type of one-night stand where we never talk again?”

“Hm. Well, it’s not dark outside, so does it really count as a one-night stand?”

“I want to see you again,” Obito said, relying on honesty again. Kakashi seemed to think about it, then the man shrugged. Obito didn’t know whether that was answer enough or not, so he waited. Eventually, Kakashi nodded. They could see one another again. Obito leaned in and kissed Kakashi’s cheek. After that, neither of them knew what to say, so Obito leaned against Kakashi’s side and Kakashi threw an arm around Obito’s shoulders. The ache in Obito’s chest was dull, though it throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Obito knew a lot about heartache, about the pull and push of depression and anxiety. He was riddled with cracks, but maybe he wasn’t broken. He and Kakashi were both a little worse for wear, both of them searching for something to ease the pain. They found a cure in tequila, in a love for the Beatles and Freddie Mercury. Obito didn’t know if he was making the right decision, but it was too late to change his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another writing prompt I've been sitting on for months...


End file.
